Everybody Dies
by HungerWho37
Summary: Didn't you know that everybody dies? On my sixteenth birthday I was reaped for the 74th Hunger Games, the worst gift you could possibly imagine. Even worse, I have a girl I want to protect, a pair of shoes to look after and feelings for a career from District 2 that I have to confront. Didn't you know that everyone dies? But in the midst of this chaos, I'm determined to win.
1. Chapter 1

Everybody Dies

There are four rules to life.

1) It is sick.

2) It is cruel.

3) It is hard.

4) It will always come to an end.

I didn't come up with these rules. In fact, up until I was eight years old I always thought that maybe there was the smallest inkling of a chance that my life would be okay in the end. But my mother was the one who sat me down and explained it all to me. That life will never be fair, that we are all doomed to die, and there is no point hoping for a miracle, because miracles don't exist.

Those four rules always stuck with me. Because as the hazy bliss of childhood began to fade away and I began to realize that the lady dressed as a clown who visited every year wasn't taking lucky draw winners away on a vacation, the cruel reality of life began to bear down on me.

73 games. That's how many there has been since the rebellion. 73 games, 24 tributes for each-except for one which was 48 tributes-and 1775 deaths. The average death toll for one year in Panem used to be 2, 468, 435 but after the uprising and rebellion, morality rates soared. It's understandable, since people _were_ fighting for freedom, but when they lost and the Capitol won, the morality rate didn't go back to normal.

It didn't go back to normal because of the Hunger Games.

We've all grown accustomed to death. It's like it doesn't faze us anymore. Well, I say it doesn't faze us, of course it does, but it doesn't effect us in the way it normally would. Even without the Games, people die in the streets, whether it being by being frozen in the winter time or starving because of lack of nourishment. It's like death is always two steps behind all of us, constantly waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Some of us are better off than others. Some of us are born merchants, which means we sell to peacekeepers or other members of our district who can afford it. My family own the bakery, which means that we are one of the lucky ones. We can't eat the product, obviously, but we can take the stale remains of unwanted food for our tea occasionally.

The people who aren't born merchants are from the seam. These people work in the mines, which is what our District produces for the Capitol, and don't get paid very well. They fight for food everyday, you can see it in their eyes. I hated having to stand by and watch them pass, their faces worn and their hands calloused and sore. I wished I could give them something, anything, that could help them get by.

That's why when I saw her, I couldn't resist helping.

I had always unintentionally kept an eye on Katniss Everdeen. My father told me when I was a kid, before my mother taught me the lessons of life, that he had dated Katniss' mother but she ran away with a coal miner because when he sang, all the birds stopped to listen. Katniss herself sang the Valley Song in assmebly that day. I remembered listening out specially for the birds, but I couldn't hear them.

Because they had stopped to listen.

I think my friends believed I had a crush on Katniss. I suppose I probably would too if it were one of them always watching her as she picked up her sister from First School and walked home. But that wasn't it at all. Sure, she was a pretty girl, but she wasn't my type. She just made me curious for reasons I couldn't explain.

The day I helped her, I had been working with my mother in the kitchen. It was raining from the heavens outside, the water battering the ground in a seemingly never ending battle of water vs. earth. It was honestly like one second, there was nothing in our back yard, and the next thing I knew, Katniss was sitting under our apple tree.

Her father had died recently in a mine explosion and the Everdeen family had started keeping to themselves after it. I wasn't sure how they were going to support themselves, since I hadn't seen Mrs Everdeen out looking for jobs or anything since it was long past the grieving period. But I knew it was none of my business so I left it alone.

But seeing Katniss outside, under the tree, I knew something was wrong. She was thin and frail, she didn't look like she could lift a finger without having to struggle to do it. I looked at the bread that was cooking in our ovens, the bread that was going to feed greedy peacekeepers, and felt ashamed of myself. I knew I had to do something.

I walked into my mother as she was pulling the loaves out, causing her to unbalance and drop them into the flames. "Peeta!" she exclaimed, using the wooden peel to scrape the bread out. They were burned around the edges, not too badly, but badly enough that we couldn't display them. My mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh Peeta, are you kidding me?!"

I winced. "Sorry," I tried.

It was too late to apologize and I knew it. My mother lost her temper and smacked me with the end of the wooden peel. It hurt like hell but I saw it coming, since she wasn't going to let a silly mistake like that go unpunished. I could feel my eye immediately swelling up but it wasn't too bad, I could sort it out later.

"Feed them to the pigs you useless creature!" she said yelled at me. "You might as well, who's going to buy burned bread?"

I don't think my mother realized that many of the seam citizens would die for a crumb of bread, burned or not.

I saw Katniss outside, through the sheets of icy rain, and went to the pigs so my mother wouldn't get suspicious. The door bell went at the front of the bakery, indicating a customer, and she was forced to go back inside. I tore as much of the burned pieces off as I could before hurrying across the yard to Katniss. My feet skidded at least twice and I tried not to make a sound.

She didn't look up at me until the last moment, her grey eyes weary and tired. She tensed, as if preparing to fight, probably thinking I was sent out to shoo her away.

_It's okay,_ I felt like saying_, I'm not going to yell at you._ I didn't speak, no matter how much I wanted to, because I was too much of a coward. I just dropped the bread at her feet and ran back to the bakery, hoping that she'd get the message. _Take it, it's alright, I'm giving it to you._

I dared to meet her eyes once, when I was at the door. The exhausted eyes had a gleam to them, a glimmer of hope I felt proud to have caused. Katniss scrambled forward and gathered up the bread, scurrying away quickly as if she expected me to change my mind.

After that, the Everdeen girls never seemed to look hungry.

I have a very unfortunate birthday. It falls on reaping day. I know, horrible, right? My mother got excused from the reaping for the 58th Hunger Games because she was in labour with me. She always took it as a sign of bad luck, I think it might be one of the reasons why she's never been my number one fan. I'm a reaping baby. I can never celebrate, either. Two children are taken away from our District every time I turn a year older and I can't celebrate. I'm not sure I'd really want to anyhow. It would be a smack in the face to the family's of the reaped children. _Hey, I'm sorry about your kids going to their death but if you don't mind, I'm going to celebrate my own life, okay?_ No, I'd never do that.

Delly woke me up on my sixteenth birthday. I'm not allowed girls in my room but Delly is persistant none-the-less and climbs our draining pipe every time she wants to get to me. She knows how to jimmy the lock to our window as well, so she can climb right in.

I had been sleeping comfortably, prepared to stay in my nebulous state for a little while longer, when she started singing in my ear as loud as she dared.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday Peeta Bread! Happy birthday to you!"

"Go away Delly," I mumbled. "Still sleeping."

"Oh grow up Mellark. You know I'm not leaving," Delly said. She tugged on my bed covers. "Come on, kid, I want to give you your present before the reaping."

I groaned but did as she asked, sitting up groggily and rubbing my eyes. "What is it?" I yawned. Delly was already dressed for later in her best red and white checkered dress an her hair was plaited in a complicated french braid. It's compulsory to dress your best for the reaping, so we look like we actually care about what we look like to the Capitol.

"Wait, no, I need to give you Madge's gift first," Delly explained. "She doesn't think it's much but I told her it's awesome." She handed me a plastic bottle of clear liquid. There were bubbles in it, fizzing and popping.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Lemonade," Delly answered. "She stole some from her father's fridge. It's some drink from the Capitol. Apparently it isn't half bad. Go on, try some."

I unscrewed the cap and took a hesitant sniff of the contents inside. "Are you sure it's safe? It smells like desinfectant."

Delly sniggered. "Just try it," she chuckled. I sighed and tipped the bottle back, nearly the chuckling on the bubbles as they attacked the back of my throat. Delly burst out laughing when I coughed, leaning forward and banging my back with her fist to help me breathe again. "Okay," she gasped between laughs, "maybe you should leave the lemonade for now."

"I agree," I replied, putting the bottle down on the floor.

"Now it's my turn," Delly announced. She grabbed something from the floor and presented it with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

Delly was a merchant as well. Her parents owned the shoe store. Normally, she wasn't allowed to take any of the product but this time must have been an exception. I couldn't believe it. She was giving me a new pair of shoes from the store. "Delly," I said, "I can't accept these."

"You have to!" she blurted out. "I swear Mellark, if you make me give these back my parents are going to strangle me for begging so much to let me give them to you!"

"But Delly, they're-"

"Oh stop complaining and just say thanks," Delly grinned.

Knowing that I was fighting a lost cause, I sighed and smiled. "Thank you Delly," I said.

"You're welcome Peeta Bread," she replied.

"Is that a girl a hear?" Rye came into the room, covered in flour from the morning shift. His face fell. "Oh, hey Delly." He sounded dismayed.

"Always a pleasure to see you too Rye," Delly said sweetly.

"Shouldn't you be at home preparing for the reaping?" my brother asked, going into the small bathroom attached to our room to wash up.

"Well sorry, I wanted to say happy birthday to your brother." Delly hopped onto my bed and threw her arm around me. "Sixteen is a very important age."

Rye popped his head around the door, his eyes wide in faux surprise. "Jesus Peet, it's your birthday?" he exclaimed.

I rolled my eyes. "What gave it away? The fact that Delly's here so early or the fact that it's reaping day?" I asked.

Rye shrugged. "A bit of both?" he guessed. He grinned and winked. "Of course I didn't forget your birthday Peet. I think mother might even be planning to let you have a piece of cake later after the reaping. Like, _proper_ cake. She did it for Wayne and me on our sixteenth so she'll probably do it for you too. It's a bummer that we have to go through the reaping first though."

"Eh, I'm kind of used to it now," I sighed. "The reaping will always overshadow my birthday, it's a fact of life that won't change any time soon."

Delly blew a raspberry. "Oh wow, this is cheerful," she said sarcastically. "_Come on_, don't let the Capitol ruin your sixteenth. That's what they do with the reaping. Try and ruin out lives. Lift the spirits now because I'm not carrying them around all day and trust me, if you don't try, I will be carrying them."

I laughed. "Okay Delly, whatever you say."

Later that day, we were making our way to the square for the reaping. I wore the shoes Delly gave me, since they were brand new and she insisted. I worried that they were going to get covered in coal dust but she told me to stop being such a worry-wally and to wear the goddamn shoes.

The reaping is always filled with an air of fear, hatred and anxiety. The square is always packed to the brim with people, the kids still eligable for the Games in the middle and the parents standing around the edge. I want children when I'm older but when I see the ashen faces of the worried parents on this day, I sometimes wonder if it would be worth it. To raise a child with hope and love, only to have them taken away from me and killed by another child who just wants to get home as well. There's no gurantee it wouldn't happen.

The odds are in no-one's favour.

Why is always so warm on this day? Maybe it's not the weather, maybe it's just the amount of bodies packed into one area but I feel like I'm frying as I stand in the group of boys the same age as me.

Effie Trinket comes up onto the stage by the Justice Building, tapping the microphone and chirping away about honour and excitement. She shows us a video, voiced over by our own President Snow, talking about the betrayal of the uprising, about how the 13 Districts rebelled against the Capitol who supposedly loved and protected them, resulting in the destruction of the entirety of District 13 and the oppression of the other 12. Not that they weren't oppressed before. We had always been oppressed.

The ladies are first.

Effie picks out a name and pulls it open agnozingly slowly. I hope that it isn't Delly or Madge. Anyone but them, anyone but them, _anyone but them._

"Primrose Everdeen!"

Oh my god, _no_.

Katniss' little sister Primrose. This was her first year, surely. She was only twelve years old. Surely this was a mistake. Effie must have read it wrong.

Then I see the timid little girl walking up the stage and I know it's not a mistake.

"Prim!" a desperate voice screams. I see Katniss running up the pathway created by the onlookers and shoving her sister behind her frantically. "Prim! I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

No, no, no. Oh god, this was horrible. I resisted the urge to cover my face with my hands and wish it all away. Not Katniss. Not her. Not the girl I've been trying to look out for for all the years. I hear Prim screaming but I know it's useless. Once volunteered for, there's nothing you can do but step down.

Katniss takes the stage, wearing a mask of indifference. I know she's trying to look brave. I've played that game before. When people ask about the bruises on my face and I laugh and make jokes about it. You do it because there's nothing else for it. It's either laugh or cry. And if I cried every time I got smacked by my mother, I would have ran out of tears long ago.

Instead of clapping for her, I find myself lifting my hand and saluting her. I've never done it before, since it's only ever been done at funerals. But it's a sign of respect. And I greatly respect Katniss for what she has done for her baby sister. Then, like a stack of dominos falling down, people began to copy until the whole district was saluting her. I can tell Katniss was taken aback by this as her eyes widened and her lips parted as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

"And now for the boys!" Effie said, wishing to hurry things along. I barely had time to pray that my brothers weren't picked before she had ripped open the envelope and announced the name.

I waited. I'm not sure why. She had already called the name but it was like I hadn't heard her. Everyone was looking at me, why were they looking at me? Even Katniss, who I hd never spoken to before in my entire life, stared at me in horror.

Had . . . had I been reaped?

One of the boys beside me gave me a nudge and I realized I had.

I'm not sure why I wasn't panicking but I calmly let the peacekeepers escort me to the stage. Maybe things weren't sinking in yet. It just felt so surreal, every voice sounding like it was underwater and every brush of air, touch to the skin, shifting of feet, felt amplified to a thousand.

This had to be a dream.

I shook hands with Katniss, meeting her eyes only for a second before she averted away from me. I turned to face the crowd as the anthem played us out and I saw everyone.

Madge stood stock still. Her eyes were wide and watery. My brothers had horrified expressions on their faces, while my dad looked like he was about to cry and my mother couldn't meet my eyes. I saw Delly last. She was near the back, her hands over her mouth and her blue eyes weighted with sadness.

That's when I officially realized.

I had been reaped for the 74th Hunger Games.

Happy Birthday to me.

**A/N: Hey guys! R&R with your thoughts please?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed! Your support is greatly appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: I sadly do not own the Hunger Games. My mind is not that brilliant and I apologize for that :/**

Despite the crumbling exterior of the Justice Building, the interior was actually quite extravagant. I sat on the leather couch in the room the peacekeepers led me to and traced my finger along the seam of cushions. I had never seen real leather before and couldn't resist the smooth feeling of the material.

I wasn't panicked. I was still quite numb about the whole ordeal. It was just too surreal. I was going into the Hunger Games. Trust me, someone who had never won a raffle before in my entire life, to have my name picked out of the reaping bowl. On my sixteenth birthday. Luck didn't get any suckier than that.

Was suckier even a word? No matter. It was one now.

My brothers came to see me first. Really, the Mellark boys didn't hug. So instead we did an extremely manly and not soft at all handshake topped with a slap on the back. Little words were exchanged, it was actually quite awkward. My brothers and I have never really been that close so I didn't expect them to be too worked up or upset. I asked where our parents were and Rye said that they were closing up the bakery before coming to see me.

Five minutes later and they had to leave. All they said was bye before leaving me alone again with my thoughts. Would that be the last time I ever saw my brothers? Would I ever hear their voices again? No, something told me I never would. What chances do I have against 23 other tributes? I was never seeing my brothers again and this was a fact.

Ten minutes after that, Madge came in. She was dressed in a pretty white dress, the sort that you can picture getting splattered in dirt because it was so sterile. She tucked her skirt underneath her as she sat on the seat beside the couch. Her hand was clenched shut and I wondered what she was holding.

"I was going to say sorry," she said quietly, "but I don't see a point in it."

"Don't you?" I replied.

"There's nothing we can do about it," Madge explained. "As harsh as it sounds. I wish I could do something to get you out of this but I can't."

I saw her point. Madge had always been the one Delly and I could rely on to tell us the truth. "Thanks for the lemonade," I quitely said.

Madge chuckled. "You're welcome," she replied. "I saw the bottle in the fridge and just thought, 'what the hell?'"

"I nearly choked to death on it," I pointed out, making Madge snicker. "Is liquid supposed to have bubbles in it?"

"Lemonade does," said Madge.

"It smelled like disinfectant," I added.

"That's probably the lemon."

"Good point."

We smiled and sat in silence for another minute. Madge edged closer to me and held her palm out to me. Sitting in her hand was a gold mockingjay pin. "Take this," she said. "You're allowed a token in the games."

That pin belonged to her auntie, who died in the 50th Hunger Games. I don't know the full story, but I think her aunt gave it to her mother before she went into the games. I couldn't possibly take that. "I can't Madge," I told her. "That's your auntie's."

"I want you to have it," Madge insisted.

"What if I lost it in the Games? I couldn't do that to you," I said. "There's so much sentimental value in this pin. You can't expect me to take it."

"So what if you lost it? I want you to have it as your token," Madge continued.

I closed her hand back over the pin. "Madge, I can't do that to you. If I die in the Games, I'll be buried with it," I explained. "I'd rather you kept it."

Madge chewed on her lip, her eyebrows furrowing, but she retracted her hand and sighed. I was glad. There's no way I could possibly take her auntie's pin. It had so much value, I couldn't bear the thought of losing it or it getting damaged in the Games. No, it was better if she kept it.

The peacekeeper told her she had to leave. We hugged and I tried to hold it together. I wasn't going to cry. I had to stay numb. I had to or I wasn't getting through this.

After Madge, my parents arrived.

My mother looked bored while my dad's eyes were red. I smiled weakly at them and my dad returned the gesture. There was something bulky in his pocket but he didn't seem to be acknowledging it. We didn't talk. We didn't need to. All we did was sit together with no words to say. I never realized how little we interacted with each other until that moment. When I was going to my death and we had no idea what to say to each other.

"District 12 might finally have a winner," my mother said. I looked at her, since she was the first to speak out of the three of them. She wasn't looking at me, instead she was staring off into space in a trance.

It was obvious she wasn't talking about me. I had about as much survival skills as roadkill. Katniss, however, had an extremely good chance at winning. A little while after I threw her the bread, she began hunting illegally in the woods to make a living. She met her best friend, Gale Hawthrone, there as far as I know and they sell game to peacekeepers and the people at the hob. My dad buys Katniss' squirrels from time to time.

She hits them right in the eye anytime.

Somehow it felt like it would be different from killing kids our own age. From killing _anyone,_ that is.

My dad tried to clear up what my mother had said by smiling feebly and saying, "You're sure to get out of this, son."

"Thanks dad," I said, even though I knew she hadn't been talking about me. It stung, of course it did, but I wasn't going to let this get to me. I had to stay numb. I _had_ to. I couldn't break down or I'd come out red-eyed and the cameras would see it and show the entire country how much of a wimp I am.

The goodbyes were curt. When they left, my heart actually felt like it was being torn apart, but I sucked in a breath and held it. But the reality was setting in. I was never going to see them again. Because my mother was right in her line of thinking. District 12 might finally have a winner, but it won't be me.

Delly came last. It was thirty minutes after my parents left and I hadn't expected any more visitors. I had nearly dozed off when she came in. I pryed my eyes open when the door opened and smiled when I saw her standing there, even though her eyes were swollen and bloodshot.

"Happy birthday," she said.

"Thanks," I replied.

Without another word, Delly sat on the sofa and rested her head on my lap. We used to sit like this in my room when my parents were in the next room, when we couldn't speak because the walls were so thin. It seemed that all my goodbyes weren't going to consist of many words. That didn't matter. All the words in the world wouldn't be enough to say goodbye to my loved ones. Especially to Delly, because sometimes it felt like she was closer to me than my actual family members were. She was like a sister to me. And I loved her just like she was.

When the peacekeeper came to tell her she had one minute, Delly stood up and so did I. We stood in front of each other, just looking at each other for a moment. It only took twenty seconds before she burst out crying again. She lurched forward and hugged me. "I don't want you to die," she sobbed.

"Oh god Del, don't do this," I whispered, my voice hoarse from holding on so long. "You know if you cry then I'm going to cry and it's going to turn into a sob fest."

"Please don't die," Delly begged.

"I-I can't promise that," I told her.

"Shut up, don't say that!" she exclaimed.

The peacekeeper returned and when Delly refused to leave, he grabbed her by the arms and started pulling her away. She struggled for a moment but eventually went limp and let them, sniffling to herself as I said goodbye and she mumbled it back sadly.

When the door shut behind them, my eyes drifted to my shoes. The black shoes with white toes, soles and laces. These were all I had now. Shoes from Delly Cartwright, my best friend. I decided then that these would be my token. I wasn't going to part with them and I was definitely going to look after them.

Seeing my best friend so distraught brought tears to my eyes and as Katniss and I were escorted to the car, I knew it looked like I had been crying. I noticed Katniss glancing at me every so often, probably wondering what I was playing at. It probably looked like I was playing up some angle, trying to seem weak so the other tributes wouldn't worry about me. But it wasn't that. Delly had always been the girl who I had never seen cry. And now I had witnessed her in pieces. I don't think that will ever leave me.

When we got onto the train and the door slid shut behind us, plunging us into darkness, the numb sensation began to fade and I began to feel something else.

Pain.

**A/N: Let me know what you thought? Sorry it's so short :/**

**Thanks! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews!**

Three

Six careers.

_Immediate threat._

A few clever but weak looking kids.

_Possible threat._

A burly boy from eleven.

_Immediate threat._

A twelve year old girl.

_Possible threat._

As I sat in the train compartment with Katniss, watching the reapings of the other districts on the television, I couldn't find anyone who mightn't be a threat. I learned earlier on to never underestimate anyone, not even people who seem harmless. For all I know, that girl from District 11 knows how to throw knives or beat people to death with only her knowledge.

I noticed that Katniss had Madge's mockingjay pin clipped to her reaping dress. Madge must have really wanted someone to have it. I should have realized that she wouldn't have asked if she wasn't certain that she wanted someone to take it. I felt immediately bad that I hadn't done it when she asked.

After the reapings were broadcast-I descreetly diverted my eyes to the ceiling when our District came on screen so I didn't have to see myself-Katniss and I tried to make light of the situation, laughing a little bit because the only other option was to cry about the fact that our mentor was an alcoholic, and Effie kind of had a bit of a hissy.

Haymitch came into the room, completely pissed, and vomited all over the floor. He promptly passed out and fell face first into the dirt. Effie rolled her eyes and stepped over him. _Okay Effie,_ I thought, _We'll take care of him, it's fine(!)_

Katniss looked at me, her smokey grey eyes searching. "I suppose we should take care of him," she said. Her voice was guarded, like she expected me to try and take something from her by being herself. I looked down at Haymitch, who was snoring into his puke. This man was the guy who was supposed to look after us, give us advice, guide us. And he stank of drink and was sleeping in sick.

"Yeah," I agreed. Without another word, we both heaved Haymitch up between us and carried him to his room. I wanted to say something to Katniss but I didn't know what. What was I supposed to say to her? I had spent so long keeping an eye on her and now I couldn't find the words to speak to her. I don't think she even knew my name . . .

When we dumped Haymitch unceremoniously into the shower in his room and switched on the water, I could see Katniss' reluctance to go any futher. I couldn't blame her. I mean, even _I_ wasn't sure if I wanted to go any further. Haymitch was stinking and covered in sick, slowly getting soaked in water, and we were going to have to wash him. I supposed I was going to have to be the bigger man and do it myself, since I was the same gender as their mentor and the drain of colour in Katniss' face was a clear hint that more vomit was probably going to be joining the old man's if she stayed any longer.

"I'll do this, you go on to your room," I told her.

If Katniss was surprised, she didn't show it. But she nodded minutely and left without another word.

I sighed and looked at the situation in front of me. Okay, I could do this just fine. Just do it quickly and try not to think about it.

Haymitch reeked of alcohol and the longer I stayed with him, the more often I gagged on it. Alcohol did not mix with vomit. It created a disgusting aroma that felt like was burning away my sense of smell.

Haymitch was blinking, his eyes flickering drowsily as he tried to regain consciousness but kept losing the batte. I didn't make eye contact as I switched on the shower head and washed him up. I think he went unconscious again half way through but it was hard to tell. Urgh, I can't believe this guy is our mentor. Is he even going to be able to stay conscious to sit upright let alone give survival advice?

This was the man that Katniss and I have to entrust our lives to and we're already having to look after him over him looking after us.

I managed to get him dried off and into bed. God, this was weird. This definitely wasn't what I thought was going to happen on my sixteenth birthday. Embarrassing sing song with Delly? Sure. An awkward conversation with my parents, maybe. Not washing up a drunk mentor who was supposed to be my guide to suriving the Hunger Games. Then again, I'm probably not going to make it anyway.

_District 12 might finally have a winner this year._

My mother's words, not mine. She didn't sound saddened as she wrote me off. Maybe I shouldn't be so cnyical. I don't even think I have a chance of winning. I shouldn't be blaming my mother for having the same line of thinking as myself. But . . . I guess it would have been nice to think that at least someone had faith in me. At least there's Delly and Madge. I'm sure they have enough faith in me to make up for my family's lack of thereof.

I thew the duvet over Haymitch. The action mut have startled him as he woke up a little with a little groan. His eyes cracked open groggily. "You're the baker's son, aren't you?" he muttered.

"Yup, that's me," I replied. "Um, how are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Haymitch mumbled. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "What happened?"

"You vomited and fell in it," I said. After the performance at the Reaping when he fell off the stage in a drunken state, this really wasn't Haymitch's day by the looks of it.

"I see you sometimes, walking around with Undersee's girl," Haymitch mumbled, his eyes drooping shut again. "I knew her auntie."

"Oh." Madge had an auntie? I didn't know that. "So, this mentoring thing, do you think you will ever get into it or . . . ?"

"Look boy, no one's been as eager as you to be mentored," Haymitch answered. "Get back to me in the morning. Maybe when my head's clear I might consider helping."

I eyed my mentor with a confused frown. "Is your head ever clear?" I asked curiously.

Haymitch grinned and snickered. "I mean when all I've had is a couple of vodkas."

"Right," I replied, dragging the word out. "Well . . . I'm going to go, you sleep off-" I waved my hand around to gesture at Haymitch's state-"whatever this is. And I'll see you in the morning. Katniss says goodnight too, I'm sure."

"Whatever, boy."

I quickly turned around and left without another word. I had clearly been dismissed.

As I found my room again and lay on my bed, I couldn't help wondering how many days I had left. One week in the Capitol before I faced my death. I'm not the most resourceful, nor am I brave, so the most likely senario is that I'm going to die at the Bloodbath. It probably won't even be a noble death. Someone will just jump on me and that will be me, dead.

Eight days left.

Eight days left before I die.

~xXx~

Haymitch wasn't really true to his word. I'm not completely sure if he even remembers saying to me that he'd consider helping or if his head just wasn't clear enough to help just yet.

Katniss had been up before the rest of us. I guess it's probably her usual routine refusing to leave her instincts, as she gets up early every morning to hunt. Sometimes, I'd hear her come to our backdoor an hour or so before I had to get up if I was on the morning shift, to trade with my father. She was already sitting at the table when I entered with Haymitch, eating a plate of the same lamb stew from last night.

I sat on one side of her, while Haymitch sat across from her. She didn't seem keen to talk, nor did she seem eager to engage in it either. I didn't push her, neither did Haymitch, and just idly dipped some bread into a mug of hot chocolate. Don't knock it till' you tried it, it's not as bad as it sounds.

"So, do you have any advice?" I found myself asking. Maybe Haymitch did remember, he was just waiting for me to bring it up.

I'm not sure why I was so keen for help. Even though I know I'm going to die, it would be nice to have some advice if I somehow managed to get out of the Bloodbath. I mean, I don't want to die by depleting in the sun just because I didn't know how to find water. Even a little bit of help would be better than none.

"Yeah," Haymitch muttered over the rim of his wine glass. Didn't he say he drank vodka in the morning? "Stay alive." He laughs, finding his own joke funny.

I don't understand why this grates on me. Isn't that the idea of the Hunger Games? Staying alive for as long as possible? But it's just the way he says it, like it's the most hilarious thing to ever say. Okay, so I understand if he found my survival funny, but Katniss' as well? She actually _does_ stand a chance.

"That's funny," I said. Before I had time to think twice, I knocked the glass out of Haymitch's hand. The glass shattering against the ground was satisifying but I didn't have a chance to bask in the satisfaction before Haymitch turned on me and punched me in the face.

I've had my fair share of punches before. My mum does it enough. But I was so caught of guard that the sheer force of the punch knocked me right off my seat. I knew Haymitch cared about his alcohol but not _that_ much.

Pain bloomed across my face and I fought not to groan. Oh god, why does it always hurt so much? Something stabbed into the table, making it rattle, and I forced myself to stand up. I had to look stronger than I actually am, so that Haymitch doesn't write my off as a weakling.

Katniss was standing now. A knife stood upright in the wood, between the bottle of wine and Haymitch's hand. Her face was it's usual unreadable mask but I could swear I could see anger smouldering beneath her placid expression.

"Well, well, did 12 finally get a set of fighters this year?" Haymitch asked, sounding annoyingly amused. I could feel my eye swelling up. The pain had taken up the entire left side of my face. I tried to scoop some ice out of the bucket to press against my eye but Haymitch stopped me. "Don't, let the bruise show. Make the citizens think you got into a spat with one of the tributes."

"You're not allowed to fight with tributes," Katniss said.

"Doesn't mean they don't do it behind the Capitol's back," answered Haymitch.

I reluctantly did as he said but didn't know what it was supposed to accomplish. For god's sake, I'm not the fighting sort. Surely it would be obvious that I wasn't fighting. They would sooner think I walked into a door than started fighting with another tribute. Which tribute was Haymitch thinking anyway? Most of them would squash me into the ground anyway.

"Here's the death," Haymitch said. "You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll help you two."

"Deal," said Katniss.

The train was plunged into darkness as it went through a tunnel. In the dark, the mockingjay pin winked bright gold. When we came out the other side, the sun almost blinded me. But curiousity immediately won out and I went to the window.

The Capitol, despite it's promise of death and demise, was gorgeous. Like something out of a picture book or a fairytale. It was rainbow coloured and made of glass, all spires and tall buildings. It gleamed like new penny, freshly cleaned for the incoming tributes.

Capitol citizens were waiting for us at the station. Their fashion was so ridiculous it was almost funny. All vivid colours, odd hairdo's and crazy accessories. They were comical, but I knew laughing would be extremely inappropriate. These people could be the difference between my life and death. They could sponser me, give Haymitch money for gifts to send me in the arena. Water, matches, a blanket, it could be the difference between life and death.

I started to wave. It seemed like the only polite thing to do. The citizens loved it and waved back eagerly, cat calling and cheering like Katniss and I were already celebrities in their eyes. Then again, tributes were the same thing as celebrities in the Capitol's eyes, especially the victors. If I'm going to die, I might as well make an effort to seem likable so someone gets upset over my death.

When we entered another tunnel, I turned to find Katniss looking me curiously. "Maybe one of them has money," I shrugged. I didn't realize how much that sentence made me sound like a douche until it was out of my mouth and Katniss' eyes narrowed skeptically.

Something told me she didn't like me.

I'm not sure what I did, but she didn't like me. I felt a little disappointed. It almost felt like the thrown bread had been a waste of time. Did she even remember it? She seemed to only perceive me as her opponent.

Katniss only saw me as her enemy.

**A/N: Please R&R with your thoughts! Cato will be in the next chapter, I promise! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the wait! Here's chapter four! :D**

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine. Damn :/**

Four

So, when I thought of the first time I would show my naked body to another person, well, let's just say I didn't think it would be under these pretences.

The Capitol stylists were both ridiculous and insulting. They were ridiculous in the sense of their odd style and bright, almost comical, smiles. They were insulting in how they treated me like a piece of meat. I must have been a miracle or something because when they first saw me, I swear, the room shook with the collective gasps.

"Oh, another blond one," a man with slime green hair had cooed.

"We hardly ever get blond boys and this year there's two!"

Were boys with blond hair an oddity or something?

As if perdicting my question, the third member of the group-a cherry headed male with cat like eyes-said, "Being naturally fair isn't common." I shrugged. How else was I supposed to reply? Thank them for telling me that my hair was rare? I didn't really want to talk to them that much anyway.

So I got stripped, waxed, washed and waxed again. How these people could do this on a regular basis I'm not sure, because the pain-on a scale of one to ten-was a fifteen. A large fifteen. An extremely painful and burning fifteen.

And then, just to top it off, I was left in a room with nothing to cover myself up. The room was cold, like someone had left a window open or something, and the amount of goosepimples that were breaking out across my frozen, weirdly smooth, skin was astronomical. I really just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. But my stylists had other plans.

A lady came into the room. She wasn't like the other stylists, dressed in a simple maroon trouser suit instead of the creative yet strange clothing that the other Capitol citizens seemed to aquire. She took one look at me and sighed. "Oh my god, I'm sorry," she said. Then she disappeared again.

Uh . . .

What? I'm not that ugly, am I?

The lady appeared again with a dressing gown. She approached me and draped it over my shoulders. "I've never seen the point in the standing around naked thing," she sighed. "I'm sorry, did the stylists make you uncomfortable?"

For some reason, this woman made me comfortable. More comfortable than the stylists had anyway. "Apart from telling me that I'm rare? Not too much," I answered.

The woman smiled and held out her hand. "Portia."

I take her hand and shake it. "Peeta," I said.

Portia gestured at me with a weak smile. "I'm supposed to check you over for any 'flaws'-" she said this with sarcastic bunny gestures-"that my team may have overlooked. I don't believe in flaws but Snow will have my head if I don't fix what he may see as a 'flaw'."

I nodded. Well, if she's looking for flaws, I'm full of them.

"Have you been given your follicle injection?" asked Portia.

I frowned. What the heck is a follicle injection? Whatever it was, it sounded painful. "No?" I said, sounding more like I was asking a question than answering one. Portia nodded and went to the stylist station. I watched curiously as she mixed together a green and red concoction. It kind of looked like a cocktail, something that was extremely rare in 12.

And then she pulled out the needle.

I must have looked horrified because when Portia turned around, she chuckled and said, "Don't worry, it doesn't hurt too much." She took my arm and found a vein. I held my breath and winced, preparing myself for the pain. The needle went in smoothly, breaking the surface of my skin and making a burning sensation to travel up my arm and grip my heart.

"Ow!" I exclaimed.

Portia grinned. "Sorry, I lied."

When she pulled the needle out, I found myself laughing. "Oh, really?" I asked. Portia winked and dropped the needle and syringe into a medical bin. "What's a follicle injection, anyways?"

"To prevent the growth of facial hair," Portia explained as she guided me to a small sitting area. A giant window took up the entire wall and overlooked the Capitol. "It will last for at least thirty years."

"Thirty years?" I asked. My eyes were immediately attracted outside, to where the live continued to buzz around, unaware of the demise I was doomed to face in one week's time. "Why thirty years?"

"In case you win, of course," answered Portia. I snickered. I couldn't help it, it just came out. I know I probably came off as rude but it was out before I could hold it back. Portia cocked her head. "What's funny?"

"I'm sorry," I said, taking a deep breath to smother my giggles. "It's just that thought, of my winning. It just seems so . . ."

"Have you written yourself off already?" Portia frowned. She sat down and gestured for him to do the same. Her face was a picture of concern, something that didn't really make sense to me. "You should never write yourself off too early."

"Oh, shouldn't I?" I asked.

Portia nodded. "I have met many tributes before, many who have written themselves off, and you don't look like the sort to just give up," she said.

When she put it like that, I realized she was telling the truth. My not believing in winning was myself giving up. But . . . surely there was no point in trying if I didn't stand a chance?

Right?

I stare out the window, unable to look her in the eye. She must think so low of me, already thinking I have given up, which I sort of had. People were gathered at the doors of the building, a blurr of reds and yellows and blues. "Why are they crowding at the doors like that?" I asked.

Portia looked out too. "They're excited. You're all basically celebrities now," she said.

Celebrity. "Isn't that a title you're supposed to earn?"

"Well, you will. Those who win are those who get to abuse the celebrity title."

My blood ran cold. "So the earning is killing people," I stated.

"For suriving."

"Is there a difference?"

"You tell me."

I shrugged. "I don't know," I said.

Portia smiled. "Well, then, that's your homework. Think about the difference between killing and surviving."

I looked at her as if she were crazy. "You're giving me homework?" I asked incredulously.

Portia nodded. "I don't have to worry about you not doing it either, because I doubt there's any punishment I can dole out that's any worse than what you're going through."

She got that right.

"So," I said, "what do we do now?"

Portia smiled and rested her elbows on her knees. "Tell me, Peeta, are you afriad of fire?"

~xXx~

Katniss wrenched her hand out of mine. I couldn't help feeling a sting in my heart as she looked at me through angry eyes. "Come on," I said, "they'll love it." I'm surprised I hadn't fell out of the chariot by this point or, in fact, burned to death, but I was thankful that I hadn't.

Katniss narrowed her eyes, the fire that snapped and crackled from her clothes highlighting her grey iris'. Reluctantly, she let me take her hand. Feeling a little annoyed that she didn't want to do it until I pointed out the value of it to the audience, I held our hands up in the air and basked in the cheers it caused.

I wouldn't say I'm a socialite, but I get ideas of what would make the crowd happy, and they seem to work. Although, they seem more invested in Katniss than me, which I suppose makes sense. She's the brave girl who volunteered for her sister. I'm the other guy. And, really, I don't mind. Because Katniss' safety seemed to have more value than mine. Even to myself. Because if she dies, then what was the point in the bread? Of my vow to take care of her?

President Snow makes a speech before the ceremony ends and we're taken back to the center in our chariots. I couldn't get out of that thing faster. I stumbled out and resisted the urge to kiss the ground.

"That was amazing!" Effie trilled, clapping her hands and running towards us like a lunatic. "You were the hit of the parade!"

Oh god, I'm sure the tributes are loving that . . .

Portia smiled at me from over Katniss' stylist's shoulder, raising her eyebrows in a _There's time yet, kid_ way. Haymitch approached us and I felt the urge to back away. Alcohol and an open flame aren't the best of friends. I survived the fire once, but I'm not sure I'll cope through spontaneous combustion. I'm only one guy, and I'm certainly not superhuman.

Our mentor spoke to Katniss. I felt a little like a third wheel, even though we're supposed to be a three person team. Maybe Haymitch wanted Katniss to win too . . .

I turned around. I'm not sure what dragged my attention to this in the first place, but once I saw it I couldn't look away.

A pair of green eyes, staring at me from across the room. The eyes belonged to the male tribute of 2. A hunky, blond guy who could reap in sponsers just by giving the ladies a panty wetting smile. Was he looking at me? I turned around to see who was behind me, but all I saw was Katniss and Haymitch still talking and Effie, Katniss' stylist Cinna, and Portia chatting. I turned back around.

The blond guy smirked, as if he knew something I didn't. My heart did a backflip, something I hadn't experienced before and made me jump. I tried to act cool and brushed my hand through my hair. Only I completely forgot about the hair gel and it came back sticky. I pulled a face.

2 laughed and I felt my cheeks burn in embarrassment. I nonchalantly wiped my hand on the trousers of my leotard to get the gel off. When I looked back up, I expected the tribute from 2 to have moved on. But, no, he was still looking at me. Surely he was trying to look at Katniss . . . Everyone else wanted to talk to Katniss or look at Katniss.

I sidestepped so Katniss was in full view. 2's eyes followed me. I frowned and stepped back. Again, they followed. I raised my eyebrows and he quirked one back. Then, all of a sudden, he winked.

Was that . . . I don't . . . what? I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at Katniss and mouthed, _Her?_ In response, he slowly shook his head. I pointed at myself and asked, _Me?_

2 grinned, like this amused him. He nodded.

I frowned. _Why?_

"Peeta! Come on, we're leaving." Portia appeared and took my arm, dragging me away from my conversation with the guy from District 2. I got one fleeting look over my shoulder at him and captured an image of him watching me leave before the elevator doors closed and cut him off from me completely.

What had that been about?

To distract myself, I said to Katniss, "You looked great tonight."

She looked at me, her face momentarily confused, before she smiled. "So did you." And without another word, she pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed me.

Right on the bruise under my eye.

**A/N: Please R&R with your thoughts, I love to hear what you think! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Finally, a longer chapter! :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Chapter Five

Portia kept my shoes.

I couldn't believe it. There they were, sitting on my bed. The laces were tied and they looked like they had been polished. How could she have known that I wanted to keep these? All my other clothes were disposed off, probably on the train when I changed, but the shoes were taken off me in the Capitol. And yet, here they were, in my bedroom in the training building.

Thankful didn't cover how I felt as I shrugged out of my leotard and folded it up. Most of the Capitol clothes were made out of extravagant silks and velvets, materials so rich that they made my stomach churn. A pair of pyjamas from this city could pay for a week's feed for an entire family back in 12.

I pulled on the most basic clothing I could find. Cotton white t-shirt and blue shorts. Really, I don't know how they wormed their way in with the other fancy pieces of clothes, but I wasn't going to complain.

Sleep eluded me that first night. It wasn't the accomadation, I'm sure if I wasn't in sure dire circumstances I would have greatly appreciated the soft duvet and fluffy pillows. It was big, it couldn't have been built for a single person. If I lay in the middle and stretched myself out like a starfish, I still hadn't taken up half of the bed. What did the Capitol expect? That tributes were going to be taking each other to bed for a night of passion before they go into the Games or something so they made the beds massive?

Then again, I wouldn't put it past that girl from 1 . . .

The next morning, I am woken by Effie declaring that it's a, "Big, big, big day!" Clothes are left out for me. I'm glad that shoes are included as, even though I want to keep them safe for as long as possible, I don't want Delly's birthday shoes to get ruined. Maybe Portia knew this . . . What did that woman not know?

Katniss was wearing the exact same clothes as me. I did a double take when I saw her, completely sure that there had been some sort of mix up with the clothes. She didn't look one bit happy and I don't blame her. The other tributes are going to think we're babies who have to be cloned in terms of clothes and behaviour. Then again, Effie was herding us around like we were the children she never had.

In the elevator, my eyelids felt heavy. I rubbed my eyes when Katniss wasn't looking and tried to get all the sleep out of them. I was used to sleepless nights but it isn't the most pleasant of experiences. Normally all I had to contend with was making sure my mother didn't notice but now I had to make sure that 22 other tributes and Katniss don't notice. I don't want them to know that sleeping the Capitol is bothering me. Because surely it's supposed to be easy, since everything is so comfortable and rich?

One of the pieces of advice given to us by Haymitch is that we have to stick together. I don't completely understand the point of this and when both Katniss and I had tried to protest, Haymitch flipped his lid and said that we agreed to take his advice without question. Which we did, but when we made that deal, we didn't think we were going to be twinned and joined at the hip for the training period.

That conversation had been an uncomfortable one.

It had been our decision to be coached together, because both of us knew that there was in point in being apart.

"Give me some idea of what you can do," Haymitch had said at the breakfast table this morning.

"I can't do anything," I admitted. "Unless baking bread counts, but I doubt it does."

"It doesn't," answered Haymitch. He looked at Katniss. "I already know you're handy with a knife. Anything else?"

"Uh . . ." Katniss played with her fingers uncomfortably. "I can hunt . . . With a bow and arrow."

"Are you any good?" asked Haymitch.

"I'm all right."

I frowned. Okay, so maybe I should mind my own business and let Katniss describe herself how she wants but . . . why is she downplaying herself? "She's excellent," I found myself saying, "My father buys her squirrels. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same as the rabbits she sells to the butcher. She can even bring down deer." Whoa, that came out like water out of a broken dam.

Katniss furrowed her eyebrows. "What are you doing?" she demands suspiciously.

"What are you doing?" I asked back. "If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."

Katniss wasn't happy about this. "What about you?" she said.

"What about me?" I asked, confused. I already said there was nothing I could do. I'm sure if I had a skill, I would have already told Haymtich myself.

"I've seen you in the market, you lift bags of flour over your head. Hundred pound sacks of flour. That's not nothing," Katniss said.

I'm annoyed by this. Even though it's nice that she has taken note of me, I can't understand why she's all of a sudden rushing to make me look good. I thought she didn't like me? "I'm sure I'll have plenty sacks of flour to chuck at people," I said sarcastically.

Katniss rolled her eyes and looked at Haymitch. "He can wrestle," she insisted.

What? Where is all of this coming all of a sudden. "You can't wrestle people to death!" I exclaimed.

"Hand to hand combat!" Katniss' voice was rising, somehow this was annoying her just as much as it was annoying me. "If I get jumped, I'm dead! You won't be, if you get your hands on a knife, that is!"

"But you won't be!" I yelled. "You'll be up in a tree somewhere eating raw squirrels and picking people off with your arrows!" I narrowed my eyes and said something I regret even now. "You know what my mother said? She said that District 12 might finally have a winner. But she didn't mean me."

"Oh, she meant you," Katniss said dismissively.

"'She's a surviver, that one'?" I replied. "Oh yeah, my gender identity crisis has been plagueing me for years!"

Katniss looked at me incredulously. She doesn't speak, her mouth parted as if she wanted to say something but couldn't. Finally, her eyes drifted to the bread roll in her hands. "Only because someone helped me," she whispered.

I looked at the roll as well. Did she mean that day behind the bakery? Did she remember it like I did? "You'll be alright," I said. "People will be tripping over themselves to sponser you."

Katniss scowled as if I had insulted her.

Haymitch intervened after that and told us to stay clear of archery and hand-to-hand combat. I think I understand why. To excel at our skills is to give them away to our opponents. The only tributes who really do that are the careers, because we already know what they can do: Everything.

My mind goes back to last night, to when that boy from 2 was staring at me. He was a career, why did he wink at me? Maybe it was sublimal messaging for something . . . _'That's right 12, I'm going to gut you like a fish'_? Could that be portrayed through a wink? I shook my head and tried to keep my mind off it.

We follow Haymitch's advice. Katniss and I act like we're not dressed the same, standing beside each other in the circle of other tributes (who aren't at all dressed the same) and barely sparing each other a glance. If Katniss wasn't going to look at me, what was the point in looking at her?

While the instructor-Atala-described to us what we were to do over the next three days in the training area and gave us some advice. "Don't ignore the survival skills, everyone wants to grab a sword but most of you will die of natural causes." Huh, I didn't know that. We've only been down here, what, three minutes? And she'd already given us better advice than Haymitch.

Katniss turned to me when the group parted. "What do you want to do?" she asked.

I looked around. "No idea. You?" I asked.

She mimicked what I did and chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "Knots?" she suggested.

I smiled, trying desperately to get her to crack one back. Nothing came in response. "Okay," I said, hiding my disappointment.

Knots were _hard_. I can tie my own shoelaces but that skill didn't hold a candle to the difficulty of tying stable knots that would be suitable in the arena. Thankfully, Katniss found it difficult too and we spend a good hour there, trying to conquer the skill with the help of the instructor.

After that, Katniss insists that I choose what we do next. Somehow, I'm drawn towards the camoflague station, where I can do the thing that I had always desired but didn't dare indulge in: Painting. Katniss watched more than did. The trainer loved my work, which made pride twinge inside me. If the guy who was an expert at this liked what I was doing, surely I was good, right?

"I do the cakes," I said to Katniss.

"Cakes?" Katniss asked. She sounded disoreintated and I realize she just watched the boy from 2 spear a dummy through from fifteen yards away.

"Yeah, in the bakery. I decorate the cakes," I told her.

Katniss stared at my arm, where I made it look like the bark of a tree. I try to predict what she's thinking but I can't. She's too unreadable. "That's lovely," she said. "If only you could frost someone to death."

"Don't be superior," I fired back. Urgh, why did we always end up ripping at each other? "You don't know what the arena is going to bring. Say it was a giant cake-"

"Say we move on," Katniss interuppted. Okay, so she didn't appreciate the humour.

We have lunch on the training floor. Katniss and I sit together, determined to keep our promise of following Haymitch's advice, lest he dissolve back into a puddle of spirits. We find it difficult to find a topic that both of us are interested in. We have to seem like friends to the others, we know that, but we just end up telling each other when to laugh or look interested or pretend to ask a question.

A basket of bread sat on our table. There is bread from each district inside it, probably to represent unity or something poetic like that. I emptied the basket and describe each one to Katniss, who actually seemed interested for once. She takes a turn as well, telling me a story about how she was chased by a black bear because she challenged it over ownership of a bee hive.

When training is over and we go back up to our floor, there's an hour before dinner. I don't do much in this time, milling around mindlessly until Effie taps on my door and tells me to come out to eat. The food is fine and I eat every morsel I'm given, despite the slightly sicky feeling I get afterwards. The food is so rich, sometimes it turns me, but I force myself to get it all down. I need to put on as much weight as possible before the Games.

I feel so sick after eating I go upstairs to the roof, where I can get some air around me. The building is so high, the people down below look like tiny ants I could squish if I truely wanted to. It made me feel a little enpowered, like I could treat them all like they have treated us and show them what it's like to not have control over their own fate.

I was wearing my Delly birthday shoes. My training clothes were rumpled and an avox took them away to be ironed out so, since I didn't really have anywhere else to be, I tugged on the shoes and tied up the laces before coming out here. While I'm holding onto the railing, I notice something out of the corner of my eye. A staircase, wedged in the corner of the roof garden, leading downwards. Curious, I approach them and find a door sitting at the very bottom. Where did that lead to?

Too curious for my own good, I go down the stairs and open the door. I half expteced an alarm but nothing happened. Behind the door was a corridor, which I decided to explore as long as I remembered to commit the way back to memory. I noted every turn I took, every twist, nook and cranny.

It was when I was wandering these corridors that I bumped into him.

I hit him full force, having been glancing behind myself for anyone following me at the time. It felt like walking into a brick wall and I landed on my ass, the impact vibrating up my tailbone and making my head buzz with pain. I scrambled back to my feet and shook my head to clear it. This caused a curl of hair to fall into my eyes but I left it there, so it looked like I intended for that to happen the whole time even though I hadn't.

The male tribute from 2 hadn't changed from the previous night. I'm not entirely sure why I thought he would have but I sub-consciously noted that he was exactly the same, except for a change of clothes (I didn't expect him to wander around in a golden gladiator costume anyway). He was even using that same sexy smirk that was, for some reason, making my heart melt.

"I want to ask what you're doing wandering around here but I guess that would prompt you to ask the exact same thing, wouldn't it?" he asked. His voice was deep but not in the menancing way. Sure, he could make it sound devious if he wanted to, which he probably does a lot since he's a career, but right now it was light, like he was off duty at the moment.

"I suppose it would," I replied. I hated how my voice trembled. What did I expect? He couldn't kill me right now, nor could he hurt me at all, because it was prohibitied.

"The fact that you look like a startled bunny right now-as cute as it is-is kind of offending. I'm not going to hurt you," the career pointed out.

"Well I know that," I said back, glad that my voice was getting its shit together. My back came in contact with a wall and I jumped. Had I been backing up? "What's your name?"

"Cato," the tribute answered. "You?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Peeta."

Cato leaned against the wall opposite mine, his eyes never parting from my own. "So, Peeta, what brings you round here?" he asked.

"Curiosity?" I replied.

"And if you came in contact with a peacekeeper or avox who would very likely report you?"

"The only person who's crossed my path so far is you," I answered. Cato smiled, liking my answer. My heart was running a marathon and I fought to slow it down. It wasn't working so far. Never had my insides been so unsettled-not because of the food-never had my brain been so clouded, and never had my heart been so intent to kill itself in my chest.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have amazing eyes?" I looked at Cato with wide eyes, unsure about whether he had said that or not. He raised his eyebrows, awaiting my answer. "Well, have they?"

"No," I answered unsurely. "Why?"

"Just an observation," Cato shrugged. He grinned at my confused expression. "I make it a mission of mine to admire beautiful things. Especially now, when who knows how much longer we've all got."

"Is that why that girl from 1 drapes herself around you in training?" I asked. The one time I actually risked looking at Cato today in training had been a mistake. The blonde girl from one was glued to him, wearing a t-shirt that was two sizes too small on her. "Because you admire beautiful things?"

"You think Glimmer's beautiful?" Cato asked incredulously.

I snorted. "She's not my type," I replied.

"And what is your type? The girl on fire?"

Was that a reference to Katniss? "No, she's a friend," I answered. Although, was she even that? All we ever did was take cheap shots at each other. Did that really count as frienship? "I don't have a particular type, I just know that girls like 1 aren't it." I omitted the part where I admit that, on a whole, my type is more on the male side than the female.

Cato laughed. He shook his head, as if he could quite believe it. "You're very confusing, you know that?" he asked.

"I am?" I blinked.

"You are. Extremely so."

"I suppose I'm just all over the place right now . . ."

Cato nodded, as if this made sense. "I think we all are," he said. He took a fleeting look up the corridor, as if checking the coast was clear, before doing something extremely random and unexpected.

He kissed me.

I've never been kissed before. I hadn't ever expected to be kissed, ever. I was planning to hide in my shell for the rest of my life in 12 and yet I had been reaped but that hadn't made me think any different about my frigidity. The Games was the last place I ever thought anyone was going to kiss me.

It was quick, chaste. He pulled away before I even had a chance to process his actions and leaned in so impossibly close I could swear my heart stopped beating. He whispered into my ear, "Someday, you're going to have to stop worrying about her and let your own needs come first." I opened my mouth to answer but he kissed me again, this time a little longer, before walking away with a sly grin. "I'll see you around 12!"

I stood in the corridor dumbly. What the hell just happened? I looked around the corner where Cato had disappeared but he wasn't in sight. My lips were tingling and my heart, for some reason, was singing. My fingers found the skin of my arm and I pinched myself really hard. Nope, not a dream.

Did I just have my first kiss?

I think I did.

**A/N: Took Peeta by surprise there, didn't he? He he, we can't blame Cato, no one can resist Peeta's adorable-ness :D**

**Please let me know what you think! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: God, I'm so sorry for the wait! I've been SO busy :O**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Chapter Six

I sit on the rooftop after the second day of training. The sky is so close, I feel like I could reach out and touch it. A bird flies overhead, completely free and unchained. I wonder what it would be like to live as a bird. To be able to go where-ever I wanted when I wanted. A life like that sounds so perfect it's impossible. For anyone, not just myself. Well, I say anyone, anyone in the Districts. The citizens of the Capitol are as free as birds.

I lean over, just to get a real idea of how tall the building is. I immediately feel dizzy, the food from dinner churning in my stomach as my eyes took in the sheer height of the building I currently stood on. Why does President Snow allow us up here anway, I suddenly wonder, wasn't there the ever present chance of suicide?

"I wouldn't get too close if I were you."

I yelped and lost my footing. The overbearing gloom of immediate death swept over me and I almost came to terms with it, my arms windmilling as a final attempt to prevent my demise. I wonder, briefly, if this has ever happened before. Death before the Games even started, but the thought is gone in an instant.

A hand grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me up. Relief flooded my system, my heart still beating from the rush of adrenalin. I wiped my forehead with my hand and turned to thank my saviour.

Only to immediately seize up when I see Cato smiling at me.

I scrabbled for words, furiously trying to find something sensible to say, but all I could think about how he had kissed me. He didn't even know me. And he still kissed me. "Hi?" I finally managed to say. I immediately cursed myself internally. Hi?_ Hi? That_ was that best I could come up with?

Cato chuckled. "Hello," he said. He nodded his head to where I almost fell. "I'd be careful if I were you, there's a forcefield, you know." I looked out at the view. It was untainted, the glint of rainbow glass and Capitol Spires as tall and glorious as ever. Surely Cato was having a laugh. There was nothing. Not a flicker, not a glitch, to hint at a force field of any sort.

"You're lying," I said, unable to look him in the eyes.

"Oh, am I?" Cato scooped an acorn off the ground and fired it over the edge of the building, where it immediately took the path that a suicide jumper might do. When nothing happened a second later, I turned to him truimphantly.

"See, there isn't anything-" There was a buzz before something hard and round whacked the side of my head, catching me off guard and knocking my vision askew. I blinked to straighten it out again and grabbed onto the railing around the roof before I lost my footing again and collapsed completely.

Cato cursed. "Damn it, that was supposed to come off as cool." He waved his hand in front of my eyes and whistled. "Hey, you okay?"

"I think so," I replied. I widened my eyes and shook my head, finally getting the roof to stop spinning. "Yeah, that's better." I glanced at him curiously. "How does throwing an acorn off a roof come off as cool, exactly?"

Cato rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and rested his elbows on the railing beside me. "Well, I was really trying to wow you with my Capitol knowledge," he explained. "I didn't mean to clock the side of your head with squirrel feed."

A small ache had built up where acorn had hit me. I rubbed the spot thoughtfully. Honestly, I didn't mind that Cato had basically just thrown an acorn at me. At first, I wasn't sure why. But then, as if trying to remind me, my lips began to tingle. I touched my mouth with my fingertips and flushed what I was sure was deep scarlet.

"Why did you kiss me?" I blurted out.

If Cato was taken aback by my bluntness, he didn't show it. I felt instantly stupid, worried that he may think I was rude by asking such a question. This was ridiculous in itself as shouldn't _he_ be the one who feels like he had been rude. _He_ was the one who had kissed _me _after all.

"I'm going to level with you here, Peeta," Cato began. "Normally, I would wait. You know, flirt a little, ask you out for a couple dates before getting anywhere near kissing. But we're preparing ourselves for the Hunger Games. I don't know how long I've got and I'm sure you don't either. So there isn't much time for all that pre-kiss mellarky."

I smiled. Mellarky. What a word.

"I'm sorry if I offended you but I took a chance," Cato shrugged. What surprised me most was how he didn't seem to regret his actions at all.

"You didn't _offend_ me," I admitted sheepishly. As much as I tried to deny it, I _had_ relished in the kiss. It had been sweet and sparked something in myself that I hadn't felt before. And I liked it. Whatever it was. "It was a kiss . . . It wasn't like you did something awful. I mean, I've never been kissed before but I suppose that's besides the point."

"Oh God, you've never been kissed before?" asked Cato. He sounded horrified, all of a sudden. He groaned. "Ah, man, I'm sorry. If I had have known that I would have made it more special. Damn it, I need to stop being so impulsive."

"Look, I never expected to get kissed at all," I said. "Ever. So it was pretty great. I don't understand why you would want to kiss _me_. Isn't there that pretty girl with the blonde hair in your pack?" A shudder shook my body at the thought of the busty girl from 1 who paraded around in skimpy clothing and sticky lip gloss.

Cato frowned. "Yeah, I kissed _you_. Doesn't that give you an idea as to what sort of thing I'm interested in?"

"Oh." _Duh, Peeta!_ "I've never really thought about what I'm interested in, myself. Most people think I'm into Katniss . . ." I trail off, wondering-not for the first time-why everyone believed I was so infactuated with Katniss.

"From what I could see, you two don't get along that well," said Cato.

Urgh, tell me about it. We were at each other's throats again today in training, just because of a simple comment . . .

_"I think you have a shadow."_

_Katniss whipped around, her braid almost smacking me in the face. The little girl from 11-I think her name is Rue-quickly disappeared back behind the wall in which she had been standing by. I had noticed that she had been following Katniss around like an obedient puppy for a while now. I wonder if the girl looks up to her. I wouldn't blame her. Katniss has an amazing effect on the people around her, even if she doesn't realize it._

_"So?" Katniss threw back acidly. _

_Whoa, did she think I was taking a hit? Damn, I didn't mean it to sound like that. Maybe we just aren't destined to get along. Maybe Katniss has already written me off, despite her protests during the discussion over our strengths. Why does Haymitch persist on us sticking together? We obviously aren't getting along and if it's obvious to us it's probably clear to the other tributes as well. _

"Why do you always hang around with her anyway?" asked Cato. I shrugged. I didn't know whether Haymitch would want me telling one of the careers his plans or not so I kept my mouth shut about it. "I'm assuming from the blithe tone you used when talking about her everyone's assumptions aren't as they seem and your interests don't lie with the girl on fire."

"Not particularly, no," I replied.

Cato smiled, the gesture almost alien. I never felt like the careers would smile as often as Cato did. Weren't they supposed to be meancing until the end or something? The only time I ever saw them smile or giggle or grin was when they were with each other or when they made a kill. It was nice.

"Peeta!" Effie's voice suddenly shouted, breaking through the air like a bulldozer. "Peeta, where are you?!"

I groaned, my frustration making Cato laugh. "You better go before you escort loses her wig," he said.

"And what a shame that would be," I muttered. A smile broke through on my face none-the-less. "I'll see you around, Cato."

When I turned to go back inside, Cato caught my wrist. I turned to him in surprise, wondering what he wanted. The career was grinning, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. "Just remember," he said, "your first kiss doesn't have to be your last. The door to the Career pack is always open, if you want to join us."

Whoa. I don't think I've ever heard of anyone from the outlying districts having ever been part of the Career pack before. If I decided to take Cato up on his offer, I'd be making Hunger Games history. I nodded, unable to decide right away whether I would do as he said or not.

"Thank you," I told him. "I'll . . . I'll see you around."

Cato winked. "I hope so."

~xXx~

I ended up getting an eight for my private session with the Gamemakers. For what I did, I'm extremely happy with the result. All I did was throw some weights around until they told me I could go. Most of them were getting drunk and making merry by the time I got there anyway, probably a problem every outlying District faced every year. Quite unfair, if you ask me, but it was one of those things that nothing could be done about.

Which was why I was completely astounded when Katniss got her eleven. It made sense, I guess, since she had said at dinner that she had shot an apple out of a pig's mouth to capture their attention. Maybe if I was as short-tempered and fiery as her I could have gotten an eleven too. But I was happy with my eight. It was beyond acceptional for a District 12 tribute and I couldn't help feeling proud of it.

I also couldn't help wondering what Cato thought of Katniss. Cato had gotten a ten, the norm for a strong career such as himself. It wasn't often that the careers were outshined, let alone by someone from District _12_. Cato didn't seem like the sort to get crazy jealous over something as simple as silly grade but, then again, I couldn't say that with certainty.

That night, I went up to the roof again. A part of me hoped dearly that Cato would show up as well, because I would really like to see me.

Cato _was_ there. In fact, judging by his stance, I think he had been waiting on me.

"Hey Cat-" I stopped when I saw the look in Cato's eyes. The iris was a darker green than the last time I saw them. "Is everything alright?"

"What did she do?" Cato demanded. He took an urgent step forward and I took one back. Maybe I had been too quick with the crazy jealous assumption. "What did fire girl do to get that eleven?"

"Cato, I don't think I should tell-Are you alright?" I gathered my confidence and approached him. He couldn't hurt me, if he was angry, that was against the rules. I just couldn't understand how his mood could change so drastically in just one day. "You got a ten, Katniss got an eleven, does it really matter what she did? It's just a mark between you both."

"One mark _more_," Cato snapped. Yup, he was mad. But why? Surely he knew that the marks were only there as betting aids. They didn't mean anything. Someone with a one has just as much a chance as someone with an eleven or twelve. The career took an angry step toward me. I tried to hold my ground, tipping my chin up a little higher to show I wasn't scared of him. "Just tell me what she did, I know you know."

My breath caught in my throat. This Cato was a complete oxy moron of the Cato I was with yesterday. Did he have a personality disorder or something? "It's over now," I said, trying to sound calming, "how does it matter?"

Cato yelled in frustration and pushed me against the wall by the door. "Just tell me, I'm not an idiot, I know you know. No one has to know, I just need to know what she did that was better than me."

My heart was in my throat, I could barely breathe. Okay, maybe he would hurt me. I don't know what sort of guy he was. Maybe he didn't give a damn about the Capitol rules. "I-I-I can't tell you," I stuttered, stumbling over my words in a panic. I wasn't prepared to throw Katniss under the bus just because I was being threatened. The private sessions were supposed to be exactly that, _private_.

"I don't think you understand what I'm capable of," Cato growled, fisting my shirt in his hands. I tried to prise him off but it was a vain attempt. "Just tell me what the hell that bitch did!"

"Cato!" I shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"_Me_? What's wrong with _me_? It's your girlfriend who's got the problem," Cato yelled back.

"She's not my girlfriend!" I shouted. God, what was his problem? I managed to push him away, but it took most of my strength. He glared at me none-the-less, his nostrils flaring in rage. I tried to seem threatening myself by pointing at him but I immediately saw my hand shaking and lowered it again. "I'm not telling you what she did so give it up."

Before he could react to it, I ran back onto my floor. My heart was pounding and I couldn't quell it.

What _was_ that?

**A/N: Oooh, Cato flipped his lid. What do you think made him change his behaviour towards Peeta so drastically and suddenly?**

**Please R&R! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: The tense for this story has changed to past as I find it easier to write in past tense :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Sorry if there's any mistakes or typos.**

Chapter Seven

I couldn't deny that I was shaken after my encounter with Cato. I knew how to deal with people who had bi-polar tendancies-I spent my whole life living with a woman who would be all smiles and praise one moment, then darkness and screams the next-but I couldn't understand why Cato had taken his rage out on me. Was I a target? Did I have a big red splodge on my forehead that screamed, "Verbal punching bag!"

Coming up with excuses to make the situation seem less bad died a few hours after I had went to bed. I don't know why I was crazy enough to think he was different. Cato was a career, it was in his nature to be competitve. I barely knew him anyhow and all my life I had despised the careers and what they stood for, what made this one person any different? Subconsciously, I already knew the answer. This man had kissed me. For a bizarre reason I couldn't understand, the fact that Cato had kissed me-actually thought I was good enough to _kiss_-and I hadn't been able to let it go. The idea of Cato being attracted to me wasn't unappealing. And he was a very attractive man himself. I never considered myself as gay. I never really thought about how to identify myself sexually, I always thought I'd know when the moment came.

As I stared at the ceiling, the Capitol regulation covers bunched at my waist, I couldn't stop thinking about Cato. About how he had stared at me after the tribute parade; how he had spoken to me so casually when he found me wandering the building's corridors when I shouldn't have been; how he had kissed me so quickly as if he couldn't control himself and just went for it; how sweet and charming he had been on the training center roof the first time . . . how terrifying he had been the second time.

My sleep that night was restless. I couldn't get Cato out of my mind. Everytime I closed my eyes, I saw his gorgeous green eyes burning in the darkness behind my eyelids. When I covered my head with my pillow, I could still hear his deep voice purring in my ears. In my head, his face was constantly there. He was just there and I couldn't get rid of him. Even though he had me petrified, he wouldn't get out of my head.

There was a day between the private sessions with the gamemakers and the tribute interviews with Caeser Flickerman where the District mentor and our escort trains both their tributes before going live on t.v. again. I don't know what else we need to be trained but I was willing to take any help I could get.

After Katniss had gotten her eleven and before I had went to the roof in hopes of finding Cato, I pulled Haymitch aside and asked to be trained alone. I still didn't have anything against Katniss-I still felt hurt that she obviously didn't like me-but if we weren't going to get along then there really was no point keeping up this forever friends image. Cato had said so himself, no one was buying it.

"Why?" he had grinned. I forced myself not to wince at the strength of the alcohol that reeked from his breath. "Jealous of fire girl's spunk?"

"Hardly," I replied. At this point, I hadn't known about Cato's change of mood because of Katniss' score and the offer of a spot in the career pack was still on my mind. "I'm considering an alliance with someone else and I want to start distancing myself from Katniss." I could hear Effie raving about how spectacular Katniss' eleven was and how much amazing publicity they were going to get. I was still incredibly happy for Katniss but it was difficult not to be the tiniest bit upset that no one seemed to actknowledge my commendable eight.

Haymitch narrowed his eyes. "I thought I told you to stick with Katniss?" he slurred.

"You did," I answered. "But it's not my fault no one is buying the act. We've done our best but we get on like bread without yeast." My dad used to say that about myself and my brothers. I could remember running around the bakery, fighting with my brothers, and dad yelling that at us from the kitchen. _"I swear, you boys get on like bread without yeast!"_

It wasn't that late when I had asked my mentor this but he looked completely exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and the wrinkles around the lids stood out even more than usual. "Fine. I'll train you alone from now until the Games. But you owe me a favour later on."

"Deal." It was easier than I had thought it would be. Maybe I had just caught him at the wrong time, when all he wanted to do was get a drink. At the time I hadn't been worried about the favour that I owed Haymitch. I thought that there wouldn't be time for it because surely, with only a few days left until I was going to be thrown into the Games, I would be dead before I could fufill the debt.

I was wrong.

"You want me to _what_?!"

Haymitch was slumped in his armchair, a picture of complete disinterest, nursing a tumbler of liqour. "Every tribute has an angle," he said. "I want you to go out for your interview tomorrow and say that you are in love with Katniss."

I was horrified. "I'm not in love with her!" I exclaimed.

"You don't need to be," said Haymitch. "You just need to pretend that you are."

My thoughts immediately went to Cato. Even though I was supposed to be mad at him, I worried about what he would think if I went out and declared love for Katniss. "I'm not doing it," I said firmly. "It's stupid. Katniss won't appreciate it, what's the point?"

"The point is it will get you sponsers. You _need_ sponsers. They are the difference between life and death," answered Haymitch. "The Capitol citizens will be putty in your hands if there's a forbidden love story in their precious Games."

"No! I'm not doing it!" I snapped. "I'm not degrading my own emotions for the Capitol!"

"Do you want to survive?"

"What's the point? I'm not going to survive anyway!"

Haymitch rolled his eyes and slurped his drink. "You owe me a favour. This is the favour," he stated. "Do it or I will tell fire girl about your supposed alliance when she comes to me after lunch."

I scowled at him. I couldn't believe he was doing this. This wasn't the request for a favour, this was blackmail. I couldn't deny him, though, because I didn't want Katniss to know about Cato's offer. She had been by my side for every second of training and this would lead questions as to who exactly offered me this alliance and where I had been meeting them. I wanted to keep what had happened between myself and Cato secret and this desperation outweighed everything else.

I agreed to do it.

During lunch, Katniss looked more annoyed than usual. It made me worry about what exactly we were to learn with Effie. Hopefully, it would be something I could cope with. I felt like I could deal with Effie better than Katniss could.

It turned out to not be too bad. Effie taught me how to walk with my chin parallel to the floor; how to sit up straight and how to smile while answering a question. She told me I was much easier to teach than Katniss because I wasn't as stubborn and didn't need to be told to be polite. I couldn't help feeling a little proud. Katniss had seemed to pip me to the post at every single thing we had done so far. It was nice to get a little praise.

The rest of the day, nothing happened. I wasn't as glad as most to have the free time. Every free moment was clouded with thoughts of Cato, of speculations over his change of behaviour. It was hard to get through the night, again, because sleep seemed like a far off idea and even though I hated the spare time, I was savouring every second I had of it.

I was woken up the next day to my stylist team. They were here to make me up for my live interview with Caeser Flickerman. I wasn't too worried about what sort of impression I was going to make, I was going to go out there and lie anyway. If they loved me, they wouldn't be loving me for me, and if they hated me, they wouldn't me hating _me_ either.

They were beginning to milk the fire theme. I tried not to turn my nose up at the silken fire designs sewed onto my sleeves and the flame cufflinks because I knew Portia had designed them. The clothes were very striking, it was just the fact that I was basically tagging onto something that had defined Katniss, not myself.

"You can't wear your friend's shoes tonight," Portia had said, fixing my collar for me while her vulture make-up team touched up my hair and face. I resisted the urge to bat their hands away because I knew it would just seem ungrateful and petulant. "But they've been cleared to be your token for the Games from your District, if that's what you'd like."

"Really?" I felt a little uplifted by this. The idea of being able to bring Delly's shoes into the arena with me brightened my mood because it was like bringing a little piece of her and home in with me. "Thank you so much."

Portia smiled, all gentleness and care. "My pleasure, Peeta."

The elevator ride down was awkward and tense. Katniss refused to meet my eyes and I knew she was annoyed by my decision to be trained alone. When the doors slid open she stormed out, leaving me alone behind stage. There was still a while until the interviews began and I stalked around on my own, losing myself in my own thoughts. I didn't pay much attention to my surroundings but I could hear the chatter of the excited Capitol citizens on the other side of the stage, eagerly waiting for the interviews to begin. Along with the rest of the country . . .

Someone grabbed my wrist and dragged me behind a wall. I instantly thought it was Katniss, about to tell me off for doing something I wasn't aware of that pissed her off. I inhaled tiredly and lifted my eyes to the level her own would normally sit on. Instead, I found myself staring at a chest. Slowly lifting my gaze, I found himself staring at Cato.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

Cato's eyes weren't as dark as they had been the previous day. His face was gentle, no longer angry, and I was immediately relaxed by the sight. "Look Peeta, I am so sorry about yesterday, I don't know what got into me," he said. "Well, I do know what got into me but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

I rolled my eyes. The amount of times I'd heard that. _"Your mother hasn't been well lately, as you know, but she shouldn't have taken it out on you."_ "It was only one mark," I muttered.

"I know and how I reacted was stupid," Cato said. "I just . . . you have to understand. I've been preparing for this my entire life and I get outshone by a . . . by a . . . a . . ."

"A what?" I asked. "A peasant from 12?"

"I was going to say a sourpuss," Cato replied.

I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. Somehow, I didn't believe a word of it. "Really?" I asked flatly.

"Okay, no," Cato relented. "I was going to use a word a lot more inappropriate than that. See? I can control myself!" He seemed eager to prove this point, like because of what happened the other day caused me to think that he was this untamed, nasty, wild beast that couldn't control himself. Which, I suppose, I sort of had.

"I wish you had realized this before you scared the hell out of me," I said. A part of me wanted to forgive him, even though I wasn't completely sure this was what he had pulled me aside for.

Cato stepped closer to me, so there were only a couple of inches between us. I hadn't noticed before, but Cato had a distinct scent of something I couldn't place. It was rustic and extremely manly. I felt a little light headed as the smell invaded my senses and I bumped backwards into the wall behind me. "I'm really sorry," he said. "I was just really annoyed the other night."

"I could tell," I replied. I couldn't hold his gaze. His eyes were shining with hope. He sounded genuinely sorry but how could I trust what he says? It could just be like the first time we met. So sweet and kind but the next time he'll be aggressive again. Despite all this, I couldn't stay mad. As soon as I had saw the desperation in his eyes, the anger had melted away.

"I thought I had ruined my chances," said Cato.

I frowned at the floor, at our feet. "Chances of what?" I asked.

"Of getting to kiss you again."

Heat exploded across my face as blood left my head and concentrated on the blush that bloomed on my cheeks at his words. When I risked meeting his eyes again, I realized he had gotten closer to me. He was smiling again, the gesture welcome after the torment my mind had gone through over the past two days since we last saw each other.

"Would you like me to kiss you again?" asked Cato. He sounded unsure, almost worried.

I glanced around uneasily. No one was around, we were in a deserted corner of the backstage. With the Capitol, this sounded too good to be true, but in the moment I couldn't care less. My mind tried to fight through the thick blanket of hormones and endorphins to remind me that this man had scared me to death two days ago but it got overpowered by the large of me that was roaring, "YES!"

"I wouldn't . . ." I wet my dry tongue and tried again. "I wouldn't not like you to."

The sentence was barely out of my mouth before his lips were on mine. I gasped, surprised by his urgency. This kiss was a lot more heated than the quick peck I had gotten the first time we met. It felt like Cato's lips were sculpted to fit perfectly between my own. My hands found his face as his own lightly gripped my hips. A part of me had always thought that if someone touched me in such a place as there that it would feel awkward and strange but with Cato it felt natrual. Inevitable, almost.

I was trapped between the wall and Cato's body. He was all muscles, a hard wall of glorious strength and dominance. I never realized that that sort of thing would turn me on so much before but it did. I leaned into Cato, my eyes fluttering closed. I missed the que when he licked my bottom lip and didn't know that it was a sublimnal message. This was my first ever instense kiss, I didn't catch the hint. I thought he was just being seductive.

When Cato stopped kissing me, I was immediately disappointed. I wanted it to keep going, even if it were only for half a minute longer, because the heat that had pooled at the bottom of my stomach was such a lovely feeling I didn't want it to go away just yet. Cato didn't pull away too far, just so that our faces were inches apart. I couldn't catch my breath, blown away by how much the kiss alone had stirred inside me.

"You know, when someone licks your bottom lip, it's a request for entrance into your mouth," Cato murmured, his breath hot against my face.

My mouth had somehow gone dry again, if that were even possible. "It is?" I asked

The career smirked and lifted his arm to rest on the wall above my head, leaning in closer and capturing my lips again. The kiss was a lot more languid this time, taken at a leisurely pace. My eyes drooped closed again and I completely forgot about the current situation. I forgot about the Games and what I was about to do when I went out on stage and got interviewed by Flickerman. All that mattered was Cato. In that moment, anyway. Cato licked my bottom lip again and, knowing what it meant this time, I slowly opened my mouth unsurely.

I never got to find out what Cato was planning to do because we were interuppted.

_"Tributes gather at the stage entrance, interviews begin in five minutes."_

Cato groaned but pulled away from me. I couldn't believe that had just happened. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and fought to calm myself down. We were going to be on live television in five minutes, I had to sort myself out.

"I better go," said Cato. I nodded, unable to find words in my shell-shocked state. As he passed, the career stopped by my side, leaned into my ear and whispered, "You look gorgeous by the way. You suit the flames way more than that girl does. Very sexy."

I gawped at him as he walked away. _Me? Sexy?_ Was he joking? I'm about as sexy as a street pole. Surely, he was messing with me. As I approached the stage entrance, my eyes fell on Katniss. I had to admit, she looked extremely pretty in that lovely fiery red and orange number her stylist Cinna created. I could understand if Cato had said she was sexy because, even though she wasn't my type, I could see how she may be other people's type.

Then it hit me. I stopped in my tracks as horror flushed through my body. I had to go out there and pretend to be in love with Katniss after having kissed Cato twice now. What if he thought I was leading him on?

He wouldn't.

Would he?

**A/N: Please review with your thoughts! :-)**


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